Unbreakable (City Lights, #2)(84)

I might’ve laughed if I didn’t have Doug’s obscene words echoing in my mind. “There’s nothing happening. It’s impossible. The only reason she’s helping me out is because she thinks she owes me from the robbery. So to answer your question, there is no ‘me and Alex’ and there never will be.”

“But you want there to be.”

Understatement of the year.

“It doesn’t matter what I want. She’s got a whole life and lifestyle going on. She’s not going to toss it away for a poor schlub…a single father with no 401K plan or country club membership.”

“You think she gives a crap about all that stuff?”

“How could she not?”

“Have you asked her? She didn’t seem like the stuck-up kind to me.”

“She’s not,” I said, working as I spoke. It helped keep my tone flat and casual. “But that doesn’t mean she’s not used to a certain way of living.”

“So what? She’s out of your league? Is that really a thing?”

“Look, I’ve got a shit salary, no prospects, and a kid from another woman. I can’t take her to fancy dinners or shows or whatever else she likes, and I’ll eat glass before I let her pay for any of it. Despite what Doug says, I’m not whipped. I’m just…”

“Crazy about her?”

I felt myself tense and started to deny. Instead, I said, “She makes it so damn easy.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Alex went with us—Callie and me—to visit my dad. You should have seen her. She treated my dad like a human being instead of like someone halfway in the grave. And Pops liked her too, in his own way. I could tell. And Callie…” I shook my head, laughing shortly. “Callie couldn’t stop talking about her. On the drive back to Georgia’s, she just went on and on. Because for someone who doesn’t want kids, Alex sure as hell is great with them.”

I looked up to catch Vic watching me, a told-you-so look on his face.

“But like I said, it doesn’t matter.” I sighed. “She’s engaged to someone else.”

“Oh.” Vic sat back on his heels.

“Yeah, oh,” I said, and the bitterness crept into my words. “And she hasn’t stopped planning the wedding, which is a pretty good answer to any question I might have.”

“Maybe,” Vic said. “Maybe not. Maybe she’s afraid to call off the wedding because she doesn’t know how you feel. Ever think of that? That she’s waiting for you to make a move?”

I nodded, my bitterness falling away on a wave of miserable resignation I barely managed to keep to myself. “I can’t do that to her. I can’t just throw that wrench into her life when I don’t have anything to offer.” Nothing but a shoulder to sleep on and what’s that worth? “Like I said, it’s impossible. We’re just too different.”

“If you say so, mi amigo.” Vic slapped me on the back. “But it ain’t true that you got no prospects. You’re going to get your GC license, and then this whole crew—except for maybe Doug—” he chuckled, “—are going to come work for you. You know that, right?”

I was about to remind him that my license wouldn’t mean anything without the capital to start my own company. I could try for a business loan, but with no assets or collateral of any kind, I didn’t like my chances. But telling all that to Vic only sounded like self-pitying bullshit.

“Yeah, I know it. Thanks, man.”

“All right.” Vic returned to the wall panel, which was spilling over with wiring. “So your birthday. How about it? Let’s go to the Sunset strip and get shit-faced.”

“Nah,” I said. “I’m not up for it. The test is on Sunday and the CPS inspection on Monday. I’ve got too much going on to waste time being hungover.”

“You’re going to do nothing?” Vic spat a curse in Spanish. “You only turn thirty once, man.”

“You only turn every age once,” I said with a grin. “I’ll call you if I change my mind.”

Vic muttered again in Spanish but relented, and we got down to work.

I threw myself into the job and the day passed quickly. Soon enough, it was time to head back to the house that wasn’t my home, and the woman who wasn’t my wife. I nearly asked Vic if his offer to get shit-faced could be bumped up to tonight instead, but I hadn’t been lying—that exam was looming and I’d be goddamned if I failed. I said goodnight to the guys, ignoring Doug Liman’s sulky glare, and drove back to Santa Monica.

The bungalow was quiet and dark and empty. Alex wasn’t home. I could smell her perfume lingering on the air and there was a note on the counter.

Out to dinner with my parents. Won’t be home until late.

~A

As if she owed me an explanation. As if the home she spoke of was ours.

I needed to study anyway, I reasoned, but my stomach rumbled. Normally I was pretty good at whipping something up for myself but Alex’s cupboards were still bare. I rummaged in a drawer that was dedicated to takeout menus. I flipped through a fat stack, shaking my head fondly. “Who gets sushi delivered?”

I found a relatively reasonable Italian joint that delivered hot sandwiches, and ordered a chicken parm. In the fridge, I found one bottle of IPA and vowed to make it last.